Sequential
by onceuponachildhood
Summary: There is a second he falters before he gives in. AU oneshot


**Title:** Sequential  
**Fandom:** Naruto  
**Pairing:** Obito/Sakura  
**Summary:** _There is a second he falters before he gives in._ [AU oneshot]

A/N: 15thBurningFiddle wrote an absolutely amazing ShiSaku. This writing style is **loosely** based around that. (Update 12/13/12) So I found this on my computer, and realized that the version I had save was a longer version than what was online. Here is the longer version.

* * *

There is a steady rhythm of rain. It's quiet but not oppressively so, and she breathes in.

_The air tastes like change._

She blinks, eyes open to the world. Her limbs ache as she struggles to sit up; every fiber of her being is agony.

_Pain means that she is alive._

A hand rests on her forehead. She is soothed, and her fitful slumber becomes peaceful. She wants to thank the kind soul that is helping her but she is tired (so very tired) and she sleeps.

_Her smile is thanks enough._

With no small amount of effort, she grabs onto that calming hand. Her eyes open yet again; she sees nothing but warm eyes and feels comforted by them. Her mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out.

_She thinks drowsily that he understands anyway._

It's raining again when she climbs out of bed and somehow staggers from her room to a hallway. She is gripping the wall when he finds her, sweat rolling down the sides of her unnaturally pale face. He moves to stop her but something in her eyes holds him back.

_There is grace in her clumsy resolve._

Every sip of the tea curls her stomach with its bitterness, but she does not complain. That she has the strength to sit up and drink at all is sweet enough. She smiles at her (friend/doctor/angel) caretaker over the rim of her cup. He smiles back, and she is struck by how absolutely natural the expression is on his face.

_She is young in body; he is young is spirit._

His skin is soft under her fingertips as she trails them over his cheek. There is something in his eyes that frightens her deeply; she knows instinctively that he will not hurt her. She is afraid instead of the tenderness in his gaze. His hands are warm, so very warm, on her arms. They sit with their eyes locked for what feels like an eternity. Something in hers shifts- her walls break- and she leans in. There is a second he falters before he gives in and returns the kiss.

_He tastes like the tea and she laughs._

She is getting better steadily. Each day color returns to her face and she gets a little more restless. Her companion thinks that she's a terrible patient; he doesn't know that she is used to being the one in his shoes, not in the bed. To keep her off her feet and her mind occupied, he scours the run-down house for books. When he is done there is a stack of books next to the bed that reached above her head, and is as wide around the bottom as a bedside table. She looks from it to him in wonder, her eyes wide. He is pleased both with his finds and her reaction to them. A finger rests delicately on the spine of the top book as she reads the title and it doesn't take her long to dive in. His plan backfires when she forgets to eat or tell him when she needs something.

_She craves knowledge more than any other nourishment._

When he is comfortable with her moving around and she has devoured at least fifteen of the books, she tells him that she plans on regaining her physical strength starting that very evening. His face is a study of worry at the news; she can see the lines in his gentle face deepening. His eyes try to convince her that it's a bad idea but she won't have it. There is steel in her voice when she assures him that she knows the limits of her own body (or anyone else's, for that matter). There is also tenderness and she promises not to push herself further than her body will safely allow. He isn't happy about the plan but he nods, able to tell that she will do as she says no matter if he approves or not. Even with his dubiousness her countenance is brightened and she moves about the house with a little more bounce in her step. He recognizes her eagerness to exercise for what it really is, and is saddened.

_Her wanderlust is setting in once more._

When she comes to him, eyes shining and standing straight and proud, he knows she is ready to leave. He doesn't try to convince her to stay; there is no need to mar their otherwise peaceful time together with an argument that he cannot win. She does not act overeager at leaving, and he knows she is acting reserved for his sake. It does not make him any less sad that she is going away. He does, however, appreciate her effort, so he tries to act happy when she can see him. He puts on no such airs when he is alone; thankfully she does not notice the redness of his eyes when he comes out of his chambers.

_He's secretly falling apart._

He hands her a backpack, filled with food and clothes and an extra book, because he knows she will want it. She stands in the doorway, surrounded by sunlight and holding the pack to her chest like a frightened child. She looks up at him, looks into his eyes, and recognition finally registers in her expression. She kisses him because that's all she can do for him; staying would be her slow death. He lets her kiss him because he can't make her stay; caging her would be his slow death.

_Parting is sorrow without any sweet._

He waits; alone, tired, and in pieces. She will return, of that he is certain. He just hopes that when she comes back to him; alone, tired, and in pieces, that this time she will remember herself. Maybe, just maybe, she will remember him as well.

_It's all he can hope for._

There is a steady rhythm of rain. It's quiet but not oppressively so, and he breathes in.

_The air tastes like change._


End file.
